The Zenda Vendetta (TimeWars 4)

“I say,” said von Tarlenheim, “that’s pushing it a bit, don’t you think? If I goad him in that manner, he’s liable to draw steel on me!”

“Even if he does, you are to remain unmoved,” said Sapt. “You are acting on orders of the king. That should be clear enough, even to Black Michael. If this door is opened while we are away, you’re not to be alive to tell us about it. You understand?”

“You can rely on me,” said Fritz.

Sapt then led Finn through a secret panel and into a passage that he said the old king had had cause to use upon occasion to slip in and out of the palace unobserved. It led to a quiet street behind the palace gardens, where Sapt had two horses waiting. He dismissed the man who held them, then beckoned Finn forward, and they mounted and rode through back streets at full gallop, scattering those whom they encountered. Finn was wrapped in a long riding cloak and he wore a hat pulled low over his eyes, so that no one could get a clear glimpse of his face. He crouched low like a jockey and kept his head down until they were well out of the city.

They had ridden hard for twenty-five miles when they stopped to rest their horses and wash some of the dust out of their throats with whiskey. Finn felt totally exposed. They rested by the side of the road for a few minutes, then were about to proceed when Sapt grabbed Finn’s arm and said, “Listen!”

Finn had already heard it. “Horses,” he said.

Sapt swung up into the saddle. “It could be a pursuit,” he said. “It sounds like they’re riding hard. Quickly, man, set spur!”

The growing dark and the curving road sheltered them from their pursuers as they worked their horses to a lather once again. After a half an hour’s ride, they came to a division in the road and Sapt reined in.

“Our way is to the right,” he said. ?

?The left road leads to Zenda Castle. Get down and muzzle your horse. I want to see who rides behind us and which way they are headed.”

They took their horses into the trees at the side of the road and held them on short rein with their hands covering their muzzles. They had a clear view of the road. Before very long, two horsemen rode into view, one leading the other by about three lengths. The first rider reached the division of the road and reined in.

“Which way?” he said.

“Hentzau!” Sapt said softly.

“To the castle,” said the other loudly, having pulled even with Hentzau. “We’ll learn the truth of the matter there. I’ll know why Detchard sends word that all is well when they have bungled it! They’ll have much to answer for!”

As he watched them ride off at full gallop down the road to Zenda Castle, Sapt swore. “Hentzau and Black Michael! This bodes ill, indeed!”

“Who’s Hentzau?” Finn said. Though it was a name he knew from his mission programming, Rassendyll would not have heard it.

“Rupert Hentzau,” Sapt said. “A young gamecock soldier of fortune Michael found somewhere. Of the six throat-cutters he has retained of late, Hentzau is the worst. He’ll be at Michael’s own throat if Michael doesn’t watch him. I don’t like the looks of this at all. Come, full speed to the lodge!”

Sapt leaped into the saddle with a spryness that belied his years and took off down the road leading to the lodge. Finn had to ride hard to stay with the old man and both horses were about done in. When they reached the hunting lodge, there was no sign of life anywhere about. The horses were still out in the paddock when they should have long since been taken back into their stalls. Although it was dark and the night was chill, there were no lights burning in the lodge; there was no smoke curling from the chimney.

“Something’s gone wrong,” said Sapt, drawing his revolver. “Watch yourself, Rassendyll.”

Finn had a revolver of his own that Sapt had given him, a top-break British Webley, but he felt much more secure knowing that he had a small laser tucked into his boot.

The lodge was empty. Sapt made his way directly to the wine cellar, reaching it just ahead of Finn. Finn heard him cry out as he came through the door. There was no sign of the old woman whom Sapt had tied up. More importantly, there was no sign of the king. There was only old Josef, lying on the floor of the cellar with his throat cut.

Sapt was bent over the table, sitting on the edge of his chair, his hands clenched into fists and gouging at his temples. “I’ve got to think!” he kept saying in a low, savage voice, over and over again.

The shock of seeing Josef dead and the king gone had thrown the old soldier. He was trying to wrench himself out of it, not quite knowing how.

“The old woman must have gotten loose somehow,” said Finn, trying to prompt him, to get his motor started.

“No, no,” said Sapt, “I tied her up myself, I tell you. She could barely move!”

“Then it must have been Josef,” Finn said. “They would have been alone for some time before the guard came to escort the king, right?”

Sapt looked at him, puzzled, still not quite recovered.

“She’s lying there, a poor, harmless old woman, somebody’s grandmother, for Christ’s sake, bound hand and foot and gagged. Josef sits there watching her, waiting for the guard to come so that he can go upstairs and tell them that the king has departed early without waiting for them. She stares up at him with wide, frightened eyes. Perhaps she’s crying, maybe she is having trouble breathing. She moans pathetically. The ropes are cutting into her skin, stopping the circulation. Poor old Josef wrestles with his conscience, then gives in. He’ll loosen her bonds just a bit, perhaps adjust her gag, make it easier for the poor old girl to breathe. The guard of honor arrives and Josef goes upstairs to greet them.”

“And she gets loose somehow or cries out!” said Sapt, snapping out of it at last. “Yes, it must have been something like that. Damn it, I should have killed her to begin with!”

“Could you have?” said Finn, gently. “She was just an old woman after all, being loyal to her master.”